Chapter 8

Lance pulled Old Reliable as far off the road and up into the trees as he could. After packing the travois, he covered the truck with camouflaged netting. Hefting the first load, he set out for home. Bruised purple clouds hung low over the mountains. Lance measured the sky with a knowing glance. All hell was about to break loose; he was certain of it. He hated to leave his truck here, but he doubted he would have time to finish unloading all his purchases, get Old Reliable to town, and ride his bike back before the rain hit. I should have left earlier, he thought, or not dawdled in the stores.

When he reached the cabin with the second load, Gilbert was waiting for him, her head cocked expectantly. He was glad to see her. It would make this chore much easier and faster. She approached Lance and reared up on her hind legs, placing her front legs on his shoulders. He felt the bite of her hooves through his jacket, and laughed as she nearly knocked him off balance. This was a ‘Gilbert hug’ and Lance appreciated it, although it could be a bit overwhelming.

“Whoa, girl.” Lance released the travois and backed away, allowing her to drop to the ground. She began nudging his side, trying to nose into his pocket. With a gentle touch, he pushed her away.

“Now, you know better than that.” He patted the firm wedge of her neck, avoiding the sharp tips of her curved horns. He sometimes wished he had dehorned her when she was young, but he hadn’t wanted to leave her defenseless in the wild, and Gilbert did like to roam. She had an incurable case of wanderlust, but she always came home. His other goat, Belinda, did not rush to greet him. She never did.

“Work first, treats later.” He gave Gilbert a final pat before sliding off his heavy backpack and unloading the travois. Gilbert strolled around him as he worked, but Belinda hung back, peering at him with her odd yellow eyes. She had never warmed to Lance like Gilbert had. As a result, he hadn’t grown attached to her like he had to Gilbert. But she would produce for him, and in return he would take care of her.

He stacked the food items inside the cabin and grabbed the small harness from a peg near the door. Retracing his steps to the road, Gilbert following, Lance dragged the empty travois down for the last load. He threw back the netting and pulled the bales and feed from the back of the truck and loaded it onto the travois. Gilbert pried a mouthful of alfalfa from the bale, giving Lance a sneaky look as she did so.

“I saw that,” he told her with mock sternness. She gave her head a nonchalant toss, and stood still while he harnessed her to the loaded travois. He covered Old Reliable with the netting once again. It wasn’t a perfect camouflage, but she would be difficult to spot if a person wasn’t specifically looking for her. A light mist fell as Lance finished tying his purchases down; the pressure in the air swelled uneasily. He took a deep satisfied breath, drawing the tangy ozone smell into his lungs. Mountain thunderstorms always rocked his senses with their deep rolling booms, like massive explosions, so close it felt like he was standing in the heavens between warring clouds. The sense of anticipation worked on him like a drug as the earth prepared to be pounded, waiting impatiently for its thirst to be quenched. The scent of the trees and plants reached toward the coming rain as pheromones to a lover. For Lance, it was a full-body sensation when Mother Nature yanked up her stormy skirts and danced her brazen jig across the land. He could never get enough.

With a sound like a thousand wild horses thundering through a high pass, the storm arrived. Lance delighted in the rumbles, felt them reverberate in his bones, and thought of God. Gilbert seemed unimpressed with nature’s outburst, but she picked up her pace and they almost made it back to the cabin before the rain fell in sweeping sheets.

Lance unhitched Gilbert at the door of the shed. Pulling the candy bar from his pocket, he quickly peeled away the wrapper, and gave her the sweet treat. He could swear she smiled as she took it from his hand. Chewing, she ambled into the shed. Belinda was already inside and gave him a baleful glare as if to admonish him for being silly enough to stand out in the rain. Her bossy attitude made him grin, even as the icy water ran down his face and inside his jacket. He tugged the bales and feed into the other side of the shed and filled the goats’ trough through the slot he had built into the structure for just that purpose. Before heading to his cabin, he tucked the travois inside the shed and shut the doors, protecting the feed on one side, and safely enclosing the goats on the other side. They could wander tomorrow, but tonight they would be sheltered and cozy.

On his way back to the cabin, he closed the door on the small poultry shed and secured it against predators. He heard the soft rustling of wings, and a hen scolded him for the disturbance with a few quiet clucks. The ducks were hopefully ensconced with the chickens, but it was too dark to tell.

His muscles ached pleasantly, the result of honest hard work. He was tired, and that’s the way he liked to end his days. Tired, too tired to think. Too tired to remember. Tomorrow he would take Old Reliable into town and retrieve his bike. For tonight, he wanted only dry clothes, a hot meal, a book to make him drowsy, and his soft warm bed.